Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One) (57 page)

Almost.

The tranquility was over far too quickly. Midday was still a long way off when they saw the ships on the horizon, and it was not long after when they heard the first faint staccato pop of distant cannon fire. It grew steadily louder, as did the sound of screams, both human and otherwise. Clare felt the tranquility leave her as quickly as it had come, and the fingers of her wounded hand went absently to her sword.

“Borbos,” Will said as they drew nearer to the sounds of battle, “I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that there are a lot of enemies over there.” He cast a quick look around their little band before turning back to the Titan. “And I am somewhat concerned about our current numbers.”

It was true, Clare realized—the merfolk had taken quite a beating during their foray to the bottom of the sea and back. Their numbers had dwindled to perhaps half of what they had started with, and though they still sat somewhere in the hundreds she had the distinct impression that it would not be enough.
If the yaru were anything to judge by,
she thought,
the tamyat will outnumber us yet again.

“Not to worry,” said Borbos. “The sea always provides.” And as the words left his mouth, countless fins broke silently through the waves all around them. Clare felt the dead-cold hand of fear seize her innards in its unrelenting grip, and her breath hitched.

The sharks were everywhere—even right beside her. Two were so close that she could literally have reached out and touched them had she felt the mad desire to do so, and their inky black eyes stared hungrily up at her. How had she not noticed them before? There were so many!

She looked over at Will and was somewhat relieved to see that he looked as she felt; the blood had
drained from his face, leaving behind pallid skin tight with worry. His eyes flicked nervously around him, and she saw his throat bob as he swallowed. She looked away and tried to regain control over her fear; they did not, after all, seem about to attack. But she had heard so many stories, and had even seen a man's wounds once—horrific, curved lines of scarred flesh that had covered his arms and legs and most of his torso. How he had survived, she would never know.

“Do not be afraid,” Borbos said to them, noticing their reactions. “They be with us.” And then a grey shadow rose from the depths below him, its body longer and wider than any of the other sharks by at least a half. A gasp tore itself from Clare's lungs as the monster drew closer, and then it stopped just below the surface. Borbos seized its dorsal fin and pulled himself atop it so that he was riding it like a horse.

“And now the fun begins,” he said, though his tone suggested anything but fun was in store. He looked down at Will and Clare with a smile. “Have no fear. The sea be on our side.”

Off in the distance the line of dark smudges that had appeared on the horizon were rapidly growing larger. Pale smoke hung in thick, smothering clouds around the ships, obscuring much from view; only a few dozen were visible, with the rest of the armada completely obscured behind the veil.

Unless...
An unwelcome thought suddenly struck Clare's mind; what if they were gone? What if all that remained of the armada was that small handful of battered vessels? She felt the pit of her stomach fall away, and thoughts of Castor and Katryna dashed through her mind.
Oh, spirits, Katryna...
She looked over at Will, and judging from his stricken expression he felt much the same way.

The corpses did not help, either; every so often they passed one by, its skin pallid and its clothing billowing weightlessly around it. Most floated face-down, but some the sea had been unable to turn. These Clare imagined were staring at her in mute, waterlogged horror, their eyes wide and unseeing. One man had been torn open from neck to navel, and his innards trailed behind him like the tentacles of some nightmarish jellyfish. There was no blood in the water—not yet. The armada had passed this place by long ago, and the sea had had the time to wash away the crimson stain. They never did see the bodies of any water demons, which Clare found odd; perhaps they had all sunk back down to the bottom.

“Fear not,” said a flanged voice to her left, and she turned to see the Sea Spirit drifting along beside her. The white humps of his guardians' shells sat just above the surface behind him. “Through the water I can see,” the Spirit continued, “and the majority of the fleet remains intact. They have suffered losses, but no heavy ones. The Titans fight on, as do your friends.”

Clare breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the spirits,” she murmured.

“You are most welcome,” the Sea Spirit replied with the barest hint of a laugh in his strange voice, and when Clare looked at him askance one of his yellow eyes vanished for an instant in what she guessed was a wink.

“Make ready,” Borbos said, his words punctuated by the increasingly loud booms of the cannons. “We be getting close to the edge of the battle.”

Clare drew her sword with a ring of metal, and Will did the same. The weight of the weapon in her hand gave her a feeling of power, a sense of strength that she had lacked down at the bottom of the sea. But now, back up above the waves, she was moving inexorably back toward familiar ground. The water demons might have had the advantage in the darkness, but no longer, and once aboard the ships she would have solid footing again. She clenched her teeth in anticipation.

She did not have to wait long.

The first attack came from below, and for a moment she did not realize what was happening. It was only after they were gone that she noticed the shark fins had disappeared, and then the sea exploded a scant few paces in front of her, drenching here in a torrent of water and momentarily rendering her blind. The salt water burned her eyes, and through lids half-closed in pain she caught a fleeting glimpse of something large and grey and black before the blur of color and motion splashed back down into the waves, drenching her again—but this time with water tinted red with blood.

It was over in an instant, but then the world erupted into madness all around her. The water boiled
and churned everywhere she looked, and patchwork clouds of crimson drifted to the surface all around her, drawing delicate traceries in the clear sea before melding into a murky mass that obscured what little vision she had below the surface. The morning light glared from the waves, blinding her to what was happening below, but she could just make out blurs of motion darting back and forth about her legs with frightening speed.

Something blew a torrent of water into the air off to her left, and she whipped her head around just in time to see the front half of a massive shark's body rise from the waves, a scaly monster locked tightly in its jaws. The tamyat shrieked, its eyeless head lashing from side to side and its talons scrabbling at the shark's snout, tearing into its skin. But the shark held on relentlessly, oblivious to the rents in its flesh, and soon the embattled pair fell back out of sight.

The water began to glow sky-blue—the telltale sign of the Sea Spirit's
power
—and Clare looked down to see countless minuscule squid darting to and fro on a single-minded search for a victim. One of the water demons lunged for her, its claws outstretched to topple her from her perch atop the drake, but the monster halted midway, stopped as though by an invisible wall. Clare could see the squid swirling around its middle just below the surface, and then they dragged the thrashing demon back below. A cloud of red boiled up to the surface a moment later.

“And now,” Borbos said to Clare's right, “we make for the ships as quickly as possible.”

Clare was ready this time, and when the water drake beneath her darted forward yet again she kept her grip tight on its spines. A rooster's tail of white water leaped into the air behind her, and her hair whipped back as the wind lashed her face. The armada before her grew at a frightening rate, and soon they were inside the cloud of cannon smoke. The pungent smell of burning firesand made her nostrils flare, and she coughed as the acrid fog choked her lungs.

The ships were very close now, the thunder of their cannons deafening, and the water was clouded with blood and scattered with the bodies of the slain, both human and demon. Corpses bobbed like corks on the surface or floated just below it, staring at the living with glassy eyes as they passed. Wreckage kept the dead company, and at one point they came upon what little remained of a ruined ship's hull, its bow rising from the waves like the burning skeleton of a whale forever frozen in mid-breach. Water bubbled and churned around its edges as it sank slowly beneath the surface, and thick, greasy clouds of black smoke billowed from its wounds, choking the air and marring the crystalline sky. Clare wondered how exactly the water demons had managed to dismantle and set fire to a warship; the implications were disturbing.

Soon the waters became darker, and when Clare dipped her hand into the sea her skin came out stained red. The blood was so thick that when the last droplets of water had trickled from her fingers, traceries of gore stayed behind. She shuddered, trying not to imagine where it had all come from, and wiped her hand ineffectually on her breeches. The human fleet must have inflicted catastrophic casualties on the Fallen's horde to choke the sea so, and Clare was unable to wrap her mind around the staggering amount of bodies needed for such an act.

The corpses were thicker here too, and despite the Sea Spirit's prior reassurances that the armada had not taken heavy losses, Clare felt her gut twist with anxiety. The water drake she rode growled deep in its throat, a strange thrumming sound that vibrated down to her bones and rattled her armor, and she looked down to see its golden eyes questing rapidly to and fro. She ran her fingers along its cheek and it quieted.

By the time they reached the first ship the smoke was so thick in the air that Clare could scarcely breathe without coughing. Wrecks floated like silent sentinels, rocking sluggishly on the crests of waves or sinking slowly beneath them. Nearly all of them leaked smoke as though it were blood from an open wound. The skies were choked with soot, the sunlight dimmed behind the incessant curtain of refuse that littered the air, and little flurries of ashes and sparks drifted along on those scant lackluster breezes that managed to penetrate the hazy barrier.

For Clare, it was a scene that was fast becoming alarmingly familiar; memories of Dahoto's ruined
and burning shipyards seared through her mind, bringing with them the painful emotions she had fought so desperately to keep buried. She could still see the gutted carcasses of the Dahotan fleet sinking inexorably beneath the dark surface, their shattered masts reaching for her like the hands of drowning men.

“Ho!” called a man's voice, and when she looked up to the ship she saw a ragged sailor covered in splashes of blood and streaks of soot leaning against the aft railing. He waved at them, and Borbos waved back.

“How goes the battle?” the Titan called up to him.

“It goes,” said the sailor, and he gave a rueful grin. “The main fleet lost us some time ago. The tamyat ruined our rudder, and you can see the shape our sails be in.” He indicated up and behind him, and Clare followed his arm to see that their sails were indeed in poor condition; it looked as though they had drifted right through a storm made entirely of sharp objects, and the tattered white sheets flapped sadly in the breeze. Again, she found herself wondering how the water demons had managed such a feat.

“Are you sinking?” Will called.

The sailor shook his head. “Nay. We've sprung a few leaks, but we'll be fine. Just so long as those creatures leave us alone and the Darkmen don't show up.” By this time several more men had gathered round the first, and though they looked beaten and weary their faces seemed to brighten when they caught sight of Borbos.

“I'll be leaving some merfolk for you, then,” Borbos called back. “Just in case.”

Again, the sailor shook his head. “Thank you, my lord, but they be needed more at the front lines. Trust me—there be so many of those foul beasts that our problems pale in comparison.” He put his fist over his heart in a salute. “Good hunting, Lord Borbos. And good hunting to you as well, Dragon King.” He turned without another word and began shouting orders to his men. Borbos hesitated for a moment before looking away as well and urging his mount to continue. Soon, they had left the stranded vessel far behind.

It was then that Clare noticed—yet again with a shock of fear—the reappearance of the shark fins all around them. She urged her pounding heart to be still, and noticed that there seemed to be just as many of the creatures as before. “Borbos,” she said, her voice quaking slightly, “just how many sharks
do
you have here?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Why, all of them.”

Clare stared at him.

“Well, all of them in the western sea, anyhow, which be a substantial number, I assure you.” He patted his mount's side with a soft, wet slap. “And I've got more like this one, as well. Ancient, and big. Some bigger, even. Been around for ages. Just like the...eh, like the Leviathan.” He fell silent then and looked away. After a moment's hesitation Clare urged her drake toward him, and reached up to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder. He half-turned toward her and gave her a sad smile.

“At least it died heroically,” she said, and though using such words seemed strange for the Leviathan, they also felt fitting. “That's more than most can say.”

Borbos nodded sadly and breathed a heavy sigh. “Aye,” he murmured, “that it be. Still, 'tis hard to let go. The last Leviathan died thirteen hundred years ago, before I was born. That be a very long time. I feel...sad that it had to happen again on my watch.” He smiled at her once more and patted her hand. “But enough of that. It'll be reborn soon enough. Thank you...Clare.”